“Get out,” Pierce snapped at Nick, scooping up his documents. He strode out of the interrogation room and into my room with Nick on his heels. They’d barely entered when Pierce turned and shoved Nick up against the wall. Pictures of a dead Randy Taylor fell out of the case file to land on the floor. “What the fuck is going on?”
I instinctively backed away from the mass of testosterone.
Nick didn’t so much as blink. “I have what you have, detective.”
“Bullshit,” Pierce muttered, right into Nick’s face. “This is my case, and I want to know what the hell is going on in my city. What has the DEA told you about the drug trade that I obviously don’t know?”
“Nothing.” Nick shoved Pierce back a step. “You’re the investigator, Grant. Figure it out.”
Huh. Pierce had a first name. Grant Pierce. The name even sounded like a cop’s name. Though none of this made sense. The county prosecutor should be working with the county and state police, not the federal DEA. Just who was Nick Basanelli, and what the heck was he doing in Timber City?
Pierce turned and pinned me with that hard green glare. “What about you? What would you use to bake bread?”
Flour? Sugar? Were those synonyms for drugs I didn’t know about? I kept my expression smooth and didn’t answer.
Nick leaned in toward Pierce, and my breath caught all funny in my chest. If they started punching, I needed to get out of the way. But he kept his hands at his sides. “Listen. The county prosecuting attorney was arrested before being murdered, and I have no idea who he was friends with in your shop. I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t trust anyone, asshole,” Pierce said, his voice just as level as Nick’s. “If you think I’m not investigating you, you’re crazy.”
Nick’s eyes darkened to a deep brown. “Bring it on, detective.”
“Plan to.” Pierce took several steps back, and the atmosphere calmed a miniscule. “We have to work together on this case, so now is when you tell me everything. If you’re withholding information, I’ll arrest your ass for obstruction.”
Hmm. Good threat.
Nick just smiled. “Yeah. You try that.”
I had the oddest sense they were about to whip them out and compare. Nick should definitely tell the detective whatever lead he had, but I wasn’t going to suggest it right now. Contradicting my boss in front of the angry cop would be a huge mistake.
Finally, Nick turned to look at Cheryl through the glass. “Cut her loose. Let’s see where she goes.”
Pierce shook his head. “Why? I can arrest her on the possession charge and threaten her with distribution of the two joints at the spa, but that’s just to keep her here temporarily.” His gaze slashed toward me. “I could arrest you, too.”
Nick stepped partially between us. “Deputy Prosecutor Albertini was acting on my orders in an investigative capacity when she accepted the two very minor joints. Then she reported it to me immediately and turned over the drugs. Try and arrest her, Pierce. Give me something fun to do while I figure out who I can trust.”
Pierce rolled his eyes. “You have one day to start cooperating before I arrest you. For now, get me a search warrant for Cheryl’s home and one for where Randy Taylor was staying—with his uncle, Melvin Whitaker. I want both within the hour.”
“You’ll get the warrants when we get them,” Nick returned, heading for the door. “For now, cut Cheryl Smythers loose.”
“Fine, but I’m putting a man on her, and when we have the warrant, I’m executing it immediately. If she’s home and in possession of drugs, I’m bringing her in again,” Pierce said.
I paused in following Nick and faced the detective. “Are you doing the notification to Randy’s uncle?”
Pierce’s jaw tightened. “As soon as I have the warrant to search his place. How about you go get that?” Man, he was a cranky bastard. Or maybe murder just ticked him off. Though, it was obvious my office wasn’t sharing information with the police, and that had to be a new one for him, and maybe he had a right to be pissed.
Even so, I gave him my sweetest smile and followed Nick out of the room, catching up with him on the sidewalk to our offices. The rain had calmed, dropping in soft plops through the cloudy night. “What the heck was that about baking a loaf of bread?” I gasped, trying to match his long strides.